


Sword of the Chantry

by cullenlovesmen



Series: Bi!Cullen fics [24]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyguard Cullen, Flirting, Happy Ending, Ignores Dragon Age Inquisition Events, M/M, Mutual Pining, Ostwick (Dragon Age), Praying Together, Regency Romance Vibes, Sailing, Temptation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, holiday romance, said pining isn't really a secret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27737434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/pseuds/cullenlovesmen
Summary: Brother Sebastian is struck by a sleeping spell gone awry while visiting the Gallows. Thinking quickly, Cullen carries him to his quarters to sleep it off — after all, if Meredith should hear of this, the mage responsible would pay the ultimate price for their accident. Only... Brother Sebastian isn't quite what he expected, and when Cullen is assigned to protect the man on his trip to Ostwick, he learns just how difficult he is to resist.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Sebastian Vael
Series: Bi!Cullen fics [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1124577
Comments: 18
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barbex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex/gifts).



> A belated Fic In A Box present to Barbex. <3 I hope you'll like it! Big thanks to [McLavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/pseuds/McLavellan) for the bang-up beta job. <3
> 
> This is a story about how two men find themselves magnetically drawn to one another, even though they really shouldn't act on it. I'm sure you know how such stories tend to end. ;)

It all began quite accidentally; Cullen had been close by when the event throwing him onto Sebastian’s path occurred. Purely a coincidence, of course; it wasn’t as though he purposefully lingered near whenever Brother Sebastian visited the Gallows to offer advice and sing the Chant to mages and templars alike. 

A loud crash had alerted him, and he had run to the training room, finding Brother Sebastian unconscious by the door, bewildered mages gathered around him. The eldest of them all, the senior enchanter in charge of the lesson, had declared the Brother unharmed but affected by a sleeping spell gone awry. An apprentice, a boy of fourteen at most, had burst into tears and repeated it was an accident over and over, until the senior enchanter had pulled the boy aside and had words. Then she’d implored Cullen not to report the incident, and, considering the potential punishment for something like this, he’d agreed.

And here he was, carrying the Brother in his arms, the man’s head lolling from side to side as Cullen descended the stairs, ears straining for approaching footsteps. He reached the bottom, adjusting his grip of the man and sliding two fingers to the back of his neck to support his head, soft hair meeting his fingertips. 

Brother Sebastian had such a friendly face — his lips were always ready with a smile, warmth radiating from his eyes — but nothing could have prepared Cullen for how... ethereal he looked in his sleep. Like a statue of old, features finely carved in marble. 

However, now was not the time for such fancies. In fact, it would never be the time, and he’d do well to remember that. He tore his eyes away and forced his focus to the present.

Maker, but the Brother was heavy! Cullen adjusted his grip again, arms straining, and peeked into the corridor where his quarters lay. Empty, thank Andraste. He made short work of the distance and settled the priest against his chest while he opened the door, lifting the man back into his arms and kicking it shut behind them. With the last of his strength, he carried Brother Sebastian across the apartment and rested him on the bed, pulling a quilt over his robed form. 

The scent of the man’s pomade lingered in his nose as he watched for a moment, stretching his aching arms. A few hours at most, the senior enchanter had said. He could do this. He had paperwork to tend to while he’d wait for the Brother to wake, and hopefully he’d have an explanation at hand by then. 

Why he’d brought Sebastian here. Why it couldn’t be anywhere else. Why Sebastian rested in Cullen’s bed.

He was in Cullen’s bed. 

Maker's breath. 

Not an image he’d expected to see in the real world.

He paced for a while, stealing glances at the sleeping man; just what had he gotten himself into? He should have reported this incident and called for the infirmary to pick Sebastian up, and that would have been the end of it. But… how could he? Knight-Commander Meredith would have seen the poor boy executed for this. No, he’d been lucky it was Cullen who’d happened upon the scene. 

He settled behind his writing table, directly opposite to Brother Sebastian. The man would understand, he was sure. Such a kind soul wouldn’t approve of needless loss of life any more than Cullen did, and that’s why Cullen had brought him here; to explain what had happened to ensure his cooperation in this little incident. Not because he’d seen a chance to be near Sebastian and taken it. 

He swallowed. 

Resolving to go no further along that line of thought, he picked up his quill and slid a stack of papers in front of himself, immersing in the minutiae of running the Gallows. Orders for medical supplies needed his signature, and the planning for next month’s Harrowings had to begin soon. Nevermind that Brother Sebastian shifted in his sleep, bringing a hand under his cheek, smacking his lips before leaving them the tiniest bit parted. His eyes moved under their lids and his brow furrowed momentarily, but Cullen snatched his attention away before he could get distracted again. 

Time passed in relative ease once he had his mind on track, and, to his credit, he managed to keep his eyes mostly on the papers. When they strayed… well, the man was in his care, was he not? He had to be sure Brother Sebastian’s rest was comfortable. Magic was a brittle, unpredictable thing, especially in the hands of young boys — though Cullen had no reason to believe this sleeping spell would take a harmful turn. Nevertheless, he was a templar, and it was his duty to stay vigilant. 

The man's hair had lost its sculpted form; errant locks tumbled down his forehead, the tips brushing his eyes. His lids fluttered underneath, clearly disturbed by the sensation, and, for a moment, Cullen was tempted to get up and brush the strands aside. What a foolish idea! 

The hours passed thus. Much to his surprise, Cullen had made impressive progress with his paperwork when at last Sebastian roused, blinking off the remainders of sleep. “Brother Sebastian, it is a relief to see you awake.” 

“Ser Cullen,” Sebastian’s eyes met his, still a little cloudy. He rose to lean on an elbow, looking around. “What happened? Where am I?” 

Cullen cleared his throat, willing his voice to betray no emotion. In his defence, the man looked rather… striking like this. “These are my quarters. There was a slight—” he frowned, trying to find the right word, “—mishap. A spell gone awry.” Sebastian’s eyes widened at this, so Cullen hastened to add: “It was completely harmless, I assure you. Else I would have taken you to the infirmary. How do you feel?” 

Sebastian nodded slowly at this, rising to sit. He gathered the quilt in his lap, bunching it to a high pile, “Well rested; thank you,” his brows knit together as he fingered the soft fabric, “Perhaps I am making assumptions, but since you've brought me here, I'm guessing the incident hasn't been reported?”

A sigh left Cullen; Sebastian was quick on the uptake. “You assume right,” he began, and explained the circumstances, watching Sebastian’s eyes soften with understanding. 

“Your kindness is admirable, Ser Cullen. I'll keep today's events to myself,” Sebastian replied with a smile — and what a smile it was. It reached his eyes, still remarkably blue even as the room had grown darker. The sun had set a while ago; Cullen had lit the candelabrum on his desk, and its orange glow was… quite becoming on Sebastian’s skin. 

Warmth glowing on his cheeks, Cullen couldn't help but respond with a smile of his own, lest the moment turn awkward. “Thank you for understanding, Brother Sebastian.”

“No, it is I who should be thanking you,” Sebastian said, his voice low, the Starkhaven brogue thicker than Cullen had heard before, “Sword of the Chantry.”

Something about the way he’d said it made Cullen look away. It was almost… flirtatious. Surely he was imagining this. “I— uhh. There is no need, I assure you.” 

“You saved an innocent life and rescued me, and I won’t forget it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw the man stand up, setting aside the quilt he’d held onto. “Though it’s a shame I don’t remember the details of it.”

Cullen risked a glance at Sebastian’s midsection, and… the tingling warmth on his face turned into genuine heat now. Maker’s breath; there was an outline poking through his robes. His throat dried up, blood rushing in his body at an alarming speed. “Yes, well— it’s rather late and I ought to get back to—” he gestured at the neat piles of paper before him, forcing himself to meet Sebastian’s eyes. “So, if you’re feeling better…” 

“Certainly,” the smile on the man’s face didn’t wither, but he straightened his stance. “I should get back to the chantry. Is there a discreet way out? I would prefer the Grand Cleric doesn’t hear I’ve been seen leaving your quarters, rumpled as I am.” 

“No, of course not.” That hadn’t even crossed Cullen’s mind; he scratched an itch on the back of his neck before pointing at the other end of the room. “That door leads to a storage room. There’s an exit directly to the courtyard.” He rummaged his desk drawer for the keys and rose to let the man out. “If anyone should ask, you could tell them you delivered us something.” 

Brother Sebastian stood rather close as Cullen unlocked the door; if it weren’t for his armour, he surely could have felt the warmth emanating from him. Thank the Maker for small mercies. 

The door clicked open and Sebastian stepped forward to leave — but before he went through, he paused to press a hand on Cullen’s pauldron. “Thank you once again for saving me, Ser Cullen. I hope to see you in the chantry soon.” 

It was a perfectly polite thing to say — the man's tone was even and the earlier twinkle in his eyes was gone — but Cullen struggled to find a response beyond a simple nod. He was too… affected by the exchange, though his armour concealed his interest. "Goodnight, Brother Sebastian."

After he closed the door behind his visitor, he made attempts at returning to the paperwork he hadn't quite finished. The room grew ever darker, and in the heavy silence of night, he finally stripped his plates and gave into the desire that refused to disperse on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This story will update once a week — every Monday — but you might want to click subscribe to keep up. :) As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comment box, no matter how long or short. Kudos make me happy, too. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My biggest thanks to Barbex for looking this chapter over. ❤️

A week later, the Grand Cleric herself sent for a Templar.

Cullen was in the midst of training new recruits when the Knight-Commander’s tranquil interrupted the lesson; he followed her into Meredith’s office. The woman seemed distracted, digging through the papers spread over her desk, barely glancing up as Cullen entered the room. “Knight-Captain, you are expected in the Grand Cathedral at once. Grand Cleric Elthina’s mission is urgent and cannot be trusted to anyone else,” she said, finally meeting his eyes as her lips pulled to a scowl, “Pack for a week's absence.”

Ire spiked in the back of Cullen’s head, but he was not one to defy orders — and so he marched to his quarters, gathered what little he needed, and boarded the ferry to the docks. He made his way through the bustling Lowtown without incident. As he arrived in Hightown, the evening sun bathed the Grand Cathedral in orange hues; a stark contrast against the purple sky. 

Such a peaceful sight, but he was too tired to appreciate it. Sleep had eluded him lately; partly because this wasn't the first time the Knight-Commander’s had given him a challenging task on short notice. He wasn’t sure he was happy with all of her decisions lately, but the woman was under tremendous pressure, and Cullen tried to sympathise and carry his weight. Still, a part of him was relieved to be elsewhere — another dreaded the mystery mission. Not to mention entering Brother Sebastian’s domain. 

As he arrived in the chantry, a young Lay-Sister escorted him upstairs to the Grand Cleric’s office, and there, sitting across Her Grace, was the other reason he’d lost sleep. Brother Sebastian’s armour was impeccably polished, its golden embellishments reflecting scattered stripes of light on the walls. 

Cullen scarcely remembered his manners, but eventually he met Grand Cleric Elthina’s level gaze. He bowed as deeply as his plates allowed, “Your Grace. Brother Sebastian. The Knight-Commander sent me,” he straightened again, “I understand you have need of me.” 

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” the woman rose from her chair, smoothing down her robes. “I feared Meredith might go back on her word and leave us in trouble.” The corner of her eye twitched, but she finally smiled. “But nevermind that. Sebastian—” her tone dripped with disappointment, “—has chosen to forsake his duties to the Chantry—” 

“Your Grace, pl—” Sebastian interjected, but the Grand Cleric waved him into silence as she rounded the desk.

“He’s chosen to contest Starkhaven’s crown instead.” 

Cullen’s brows shot up, and for a moment he was sure he’d misheard. But before he could recover, the Grand Cleric continued.

She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes steely. “He will require allies for the campaign, and thus he'll be travelling to Ostwick.” 

Cullen nodded, for lack of a better response. He risked a glance to Sebastian’s direction — found the man looking back. The way he regarded Cullen was apologetic; almost meek.

“I made a promise to Sebastian’s parents many, many years ago that I would ensure his safety and well-being,” the Grand Cleric resumed. “They are at the Maker’s side now, but my promise remains.” Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head, looking at Cullen. “I must ask that you accompany him on this journey. I hear you are one of the finest warriors in the Order, and your station as Knight-Captain will lend validity to Sebastian’s campaign.”

Servants of the Chantry weren't supposed to meddle in politics, but… “Yes, Your Grace,” was all Cullen could say. His throat tightened and heat packed to his cheeks; Maker have mercy. For multiple reasons. 

At this, the Grand Cleric’s lips curled to a small smile. “Good. Thank you, my child. There’s a ship called the Belladonna leaving tonight at the harbour. Be inconspicuous—” her eyes darted to Sebastian disapprovingly, “—and be smart. And please bring Sebastian back here, where he belongs. Unharmed.” 

Cullen hastened to bow again, “I will do my best, Your Grace.”

Her smile seemed genuine as she ushered Cullen and Sebastian out of her office. She said farewell to them both, exchanging a few discreet words with Sebastian that Cullen didn’t catch, and closed the door behind her. 

And here he was, alone with a forlorn-looking Sebastian. 

“I— I’m so sorry, Ser Cullen, I tried telling her I could travel on my own, but,” Sebastian paused, rubbing the back of his neck, “you saw what Her Grace can be like. It is no use arguing with her.” 

Cullen drew in a breath, willing himself to relax. “I suppose I see what you mean.” 

They stood in silence for a moment; Cullen had no idea how to approach the multitude of questions circulating in his head, or if he should even ask any of them, but Sebastian broke the moment before Cullen could arrive at a strategy. “I should get my luggage. And perhaps some food for the journey. I’ll be back shortly.” 

Cullen leaned against the balustrade as Sebastian left, heaving out a sigh. The altar below was illuminated by dozens of candles, though the peace he usually gained through the sight eluded him now. The statue of Andraste stood motionless, unanswering when he pleaded for guidance in his mind. 

He hadn’t seen Brother Sebastian after the strange night in his quarters. The flirtation must have been nothing more than teasing on Sebastian's part, and yet, he could hardly get the twinkle in the man's eyes out of his mind. This trip would be… challenging. 

He ran the back of an armoured hand over his forehead, wiping off the emerging sweat. There was nothing to it; the two most powerful women in Kirkwall wanted this of him. He had no right to refuse. All he could do was to ensure Sebastian’s safety; to bring him back in one piece.

He’d been affected by men and women before; there was no reason to think this would be any different. Such things came and went. Some of his confidence faltered, however, when Sebastian approached, carrying three heavy-looking bags — an apologetic smile on his face. He rushed to pick up the bags, but the man only allowed him one; an even load for the both of them. 

Without further ado, they embarked for the docks. The sun had set, leaving Hightown shrouded in moonlight, an autumn chill hanging in the air. Sebastian’s conversation was inoffensive and largely meaningless; Cullen nodded along to the anecdotes of recent services, barely listening. 

What in Andraste’s name was the man thinking; how was a Chantry Brother supposed to take the throne? What claim did Sebastian have to enter such a game? 

He broke out of his thoughts as a group of bandits ambushed them near the stairs separating Hightown from Lowtown. Before his sword was drawn, however, an arrow pierced the chest of his intended target; a glance behind him showed Sebastian nocking another to his bow. He’d thought it was there for appearances, but as bandits around them fell to their knees… well, clearly he’d been mistaken. 

Cullen stabbed the last remaining attacker in the stomach, finishing the job by slashing the man’s throat. Sebastian gathered his arrows, delivering blows of mercy with his dagger, stopping to say a prayer by each body. 

“Maker preserve their stupid, stupid souls,” the man shook his head grimly as he returned to Cullen’s side. 

Cullen narrowed his eyes at Sebastian, sheathing his wiped-down sword. “You are… not what I expected.” 

Sebastian’s eyes widened for only a moment — then he smiled, offering his hand, “Then perhaps we haven’t been properly introduced. In addition to being a former Brother in the Chantry, I am the sole true heir to Starkhaven’s throne.” His grip on Cullen’s armoured hand was firm, but he let it go shortly, bowing deeply. “I am honoured to have you at my side, Sword of the Chantry.”

“I— I see.” Heat rushed to Cullen’s cheeks at the moniker; he’d thought about it rather often. Especially in the midst of… private moments. “I am your humble servant, Your Highness.” 

Sebastian chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I currently have no formal title, and even if I did, I’d have little use for one here. Please, call me Sebastian.” He picked up his bags and tilted his head towards the stairs. “Shall we?”

Cullen hastened to follow, a frown growing on his face. So he’d been assigned to guard a noble — no, a royal? Sebastian certainly held his own in a fight, but who knew what other surprises awaited him? He’d never met a noble he'd liked; as someone who’d shot through the Templar ranks by the virtue of merit, the entitlement of the idle classes astounded him. He’d yet to see that in Sebastian, however — but it would only be a matter of time, he was sure.

Lowtown had quieted down; only beggars remained sprawled on the streets. Cullen watched as Sebastian dug through his belt pockets, pausing briefly by each vagrant to hand out copper coins and slices of bread. Cullen had nothing to depart with; he hovered behind, a hand on the hilt of his sword, just in case.

They made it to the docks without further incident; the Belladonna was docked at the very end of the harbour. As they approached, Sebastian broke the silence they’d fallen into, “Do you think twenty coppers does anything to help them?” 

Cullen cleared his throat, meeting Sebastian’s frown with a small smile. “I imagine they shan’t worry about their next few meals.” 

“I see,” Sebastian’s jaw tightened, and he grabbed the rope lining the plank to the ship. “Remind me to give them silvers once we return. If they yet live.”

Cullen followed the man into the ship. They were given adjacent cabins with a door separating their rooms. After a modest dinner of dried meat and bread, Cullen stripped off his armour and sunk into the hard, but comfortable bed, his thoughts lingering on Brother Sebastian. 

Perhaps he’d been too quick to judge him a pampered royal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This story will update once a week — every Monday — but you might want to click subscribe to keep up. :) As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comment box, no matter how long or short. Kudos make me happy, too. <3


	3. Chapter 3

Cullen woke to a noise he couldn't recognise at first. Thinking it came from a dream, he pulled the blanket tighter about himself, not ready to give up the pleasant warmth of the bed. Just as he was snuggling back into its comfort, the noise came again: a knock on the door.

“Yes,” he managed, voice rough from disuse. 

The door remained closed, a soft brogue coming from the other side: “My apologies, Ser Cullen, but there's breakfast in my room, and it’s getting cold. 

Cullen craned his neck to look outside the small window of his cabin, and roused with a jolt; the skies were bright, the sun climbing high in its arc. “Everything is quite fine. I'll be out shortly.”

“Very well. Sorry again,” Sebastian replied.

Cullen sighed; what an embarrassment. It wasn't like him to waste daylight in bed, but the night before had stretched in thought, and… well, he always slept better outside the Gallows. 

Banishing such thoughts, he scrambled up from the bed and assembled his armour. Dressing proved difficult, however; a certain body part showed no sign of giving up its morning alertness. It was, of course, nothing unusual, though it seemed invigorated by the brief chat with Brother Sebastian. It… might have been best left alone, but the day would be spent entirely at sea, and the close quarters could aggravate its eagerness. Shaking his head to himself, the tips of his ears burning with shame, he secured the doors and took a hold of himself.

Sitting on the bed, stroking himself hastily, he tried to keep his mind on safe topics. He imagined the pleasure of a faceless body, back arching in ecstasy as Cullen drove into them, a burst of white as he came on their stomach. No thoughts of Brother Sebastian sleeping in Cullen’s bed, and none at all of the man waking with a morning condition of his own. And then — unembarrassed by the picture he made, standing right there before Cullen, strands of hair falling out of place, a certain sparkle in his eye. Plush lips curled into a smile as he lifted his robes and straddled Cullen’s lap—

Swelling rapidly in his hand, Cullen was overcome in moments, shooting his load to the floor. Damnation! So much for a controlled mind. He found a washcloth and cleaned up after himself, biting the inside of his cheeks between his teeth.

After taking a moment to compose himself and finish dressing, he was prepared to face the day at last. He knocked on the door separating his room from Sebastian’s, and the man was quick to open; Cullen squeezed through as fast as possible, praying the tell-tale smell wouldn't follow him inside. Even a Brother of the Chantry would surely recognise it. 

Such concerns evaporated as his eyes met Sebastian's, however. The man's brown skin had taken on an ashen shade, and his lips were drawn together tightly. Sebastian took a careful seat on his bed and gestured for his writing table, where plates of food waited. “Please, help yourself to all of it. I'm afraid my share will go to waste otherwise; I can't stomach any.”

“Are you unwell?” Cullen enquired, inspecting the sorry state his companion was in. 

The man ran a hand over his forehead, then his chin, and finally nodded. “I will be, once I find my sea legs. Please, eat while I rest for a bit.”

Cullen did as requested, keeping one eye on Sebastian as he made short work of the eggs and beans. The man sat with his face buried in his hands, swallowing audibly. Guilt hit Cullen as he recalled the thoughts he’d entertained just moments ago; had Sebastian fared so poorly the entire morning? Judging by the state of him, he had probably had very little sleep. His shirt was askew, rumpled and wrinkly, and his trousers had rode up close to his knees. To think he’d gone so far as to acquire them breakfast while being in such a condition! There had to be a way to ease the man's nausea. 

Rising from his chair, Cullen walked towards the door leading to the corridor. “Thank you for the breakfast, Brother Sebastian. I will be back shortly.” 

The man made a valiant attempt at alertness, straightening his back, “Perhaps it’s best you don’t call me that. Grand Cleric Elthina no longer does. Just ‘Sebastian’ will suffice.” He righted his shirt and swept his hair back, “Would you like to pray with me when you return? I had plans for praying together before I woke up—” he gestured at himself, grimacing, “—like this.”

“I would be happy to,” Cullen shot him a smile, Sebastian’s weak attempt at one the last thing he saw before he closed the door.

He strode through the aisle briskly, armour clinking as he climbed the stairs leading to the deck, where warm midday sun greeted him. The horizon was endless, the blue sky striped with light grey clouds, carrying no threat of rain. He hailed a sailor and got down to business, asking questions and committing the answers to memory. Below the foremast were chairs and tables spread about, only a few of them occupied. Drawing in a deep lungful of the salty air, he thanked the sailor and walked back to Sebastian’s room.

The man had put on a tunic and straightened his trousers by the time Cullen entered, but he seemed not to notice he wasn’t alone. Back turned to Cullen, he combed his hair back with long, slow strokes. 

“Sebastian,” Cullen said, mindful of keeping his voice low so as not to startle, “would you come with me? I have a plan.” 

Sebastian turned, offering a weak smile, “Nothing too strenuous, I hope?” 

“No, something that might help you.” The ship swayed just then, nearly catching Sebastian off balance. Cullen dashed closer and offered an arm, heat rushing to his cheeks as the man took it. “I think we’d best delay the morning prayer a little further, at least until you’re feeling better.”

“That’s probably wise,” Sebastian nodded. “Though I hope you aren’t looking to take me to the deck. I’d rather not have people see the future Prince of Starkhaven in such a condition; I’m not sure my reputation will survive fresh blemishes.” 

Cullen’s brows quirked at that — he'd never heard a bad word said of Brother Sebastian. The man was relatively popular even among the Circle mages. Cullen decided it wasn’t the right time to question him, however. Instead, he gave the man an encouraging smile. “It was nearly empty just a while ago. Come on.”

Sebastian smiled back and allowed himself to be walked to the deck, arm still linked with Cullen’s. 

This was a part of this job, Cullen reminded himself: the man wasn’t steady on his feet. They made it topside without incident — unless one counted every case of elevated heartbeats and awkward clearing of throats. Cullen guided Sebastian towards the chairs and tables, claiming the set farthest from the other passengers.

“Focus your eyes on the horizon and keep your head very still,” he advised Sebastian, who stole glances at the few people around them. The man followed his instructions nonetheless, settling in his chair. 

The wind had picked up, and it pulled Sebastian’s hair back into disarray; Cullen averted his eyes, reminded of the thoughts he'd indulged in after waking up. Sebastian was… gratifying to look at when he was neat and well-groomed, but like this — dressed casually, stubble peppering his cheeks, auburn locks flying in the air — well. Cullen wasn't proud of himself for taking in the image of his unwell companion and wondering how he’d look in... different circumstances.

No. Even if Sebastian had forsaken his vows, Cullen was on a mission. Besides—

“How did you know this would help?” Sebastian’s voice cut through Cullen’s self-rebuke. Blue eyes were fixed on the sea and sky that couldn't rival their brilliance.

“I asked the sailors for advice.” The admission made the tips of Cullen's ears tingle; it only got worse as Sebastian turned to regard him. 

Smiling. 

That twinkle in his eye. 

“My debt to you grows exponentially, Sword of the Chantry,” Sebastian’s brow quirked upwards, “how will I ever repay you, I wonder?” 

Cullen swallowed, wetting the throat that had gone dry. “By staying out of trouble, I suppose.” 

At this, Sebastian chuckled, “But what if trouble follows me—” he gestured at Cullen, “—quite literally, in this case? And what if I enjoy getting into trouble?”

Maker’s breath; that was... Cullen coughed and shifted in his seat, desperate for a modicum of composure, but as he struggled, Sebastian turned his gaze back to the sea, the smile dimming on his lips. “I apologise, I suppose that was inappropriate of me.”

A deckhand passed them by, sweeping the floorboards with a ratty mop, interrupting the moment. As he moved out of hearing distance, Sebastian leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and pressed his chin on linked hands. “Old habits die hard. You probably don’t know this, but I was once renowned for dwelling in brothels and seducing castle servants.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “I was such an embarrassment to my family that they sent me to the Chantry. I was happy there, but ever since I lost my place in the cloister,” he met Cullen’s eyes before sweeping him up and down with his gaze, “I’ve found it harder to resist temptation. I don’t even know if I should.”

“Are you saying I am a— a temptation?” 

Sebastian’s lips twitched, his face colouring. “Would you be offended if I said yes?” 

Cullen sucked on the insides of his cheeks, neck tensing. “No.” Crossing his arms over his breastplate, he leaned back on his chair. “Such ideas are unwise to entertain, however.” 

The man straightened, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he chuckled. “I was afraid you’d say something like that. Well, do let me know if you change your mind.” His laughter mellowed into a small smile, but it wasn’t entirely happy; his gaze sought the horizon, and it was a while before he spoke again, softly this time, “Perhaps we can be friends?”

“Certainly,” Cullen’s stomach somersaulted, but it was a pleasant sensation, spreading warmth through his body. Somehow, the air tasted fresher. Although, looking at Sebastian’s regal profile — for it was regal; calling it noble wouldn’t suffice — he knew he had another set of problems in his hands. 

Growls broke out of Sebastian’s stomach, giving Cullen a reason to escape; he raided the kitchens for cold meats and buttered breads, relieved when Sebastian ate with a hearty appetite. They stayed topside, talking of Sebastian’s plans for Ostwick as well as a variety of other topics, and, in the end, Cullen’s laughter came freely. It wasn’t before the sun hung low in the sky and the sea winds grew cold that they retired at last, saying goodnight by their doors.

That night, alone in his cabin, Cullen got on his knees and prayed for divine guidance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comment box, no matter how long or short. Kudos make me happy, too. <3
> 
> My apologies — I need to put this story on a short hiatus! The next few chapters are ready, though, so you may want to subscribe to be notified when the next one is out.


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